Shadow of a Doubt formerly 'Darkness Rising'
by Ruse2
Summary: She had been a thief; that much he knew. But not even she could understand the whole story without help from two of the most unlikely sources. Rated for future swearing/violence.
1. A Note From the Author

A Few Notes from the Author:  
  
UN: As much as I would like to, I do not own the rights to 'Newsies' or any of the characters from the movie that will be appearing in this fanfiction, namely Specs, Dutchy, or Skittery [this list will grow longer as I work more of the boys into the story]. This is the only form of disclaimer I will be adding, as I find it redundant and annoying to remember to put one at the beginning of each chapter.  
  
DEUX: This is not a new story. In fact, this is the renovation of the work formerly known as "Temporarily Untitled", or, at least as much of that story as I had written. I realized somewhere into the sixth chapter that I didn't like the way that I was developing the female lead's character and that it was gradually veering off towards Mary Sue-ism, the last thing I wanted to happen. So, for quick reference, what was originally titled "Prologue" is now the first paragraph of the first chapter. Beyond the first few paragraphs, *everything* is brand new and has been beta read by Aki (Woo! *dances*) and Sully (ff.net pen name Sharia Sully- she writes *great* original fantasy but doesn't get half the reviews she deserves- go read it, people!).  
  
TROIS: Yes, the old story, "Temporarily Untitled", is still up. It's staying up. I don't always get to work on my fanfiction in the convenience of my own little corner in my den, and since I don't carry disks around with me, I need the old material here for reference. Get it? Got it? Good...  
  
QUATRE: That is all. 


	2. One: Carrying the Banner

-=-=- CHAPTER ONE: CARRYING THE BANNER -=-=-  
  
For the first time in weeks, it was raining. It wasn't just the teasing drizzle that so often splattered the city in haphazard little droplets, but a full-fledged downpour; the kind that came from nowhere, catching people completely off guard. The girl who ran through the middle of the street was no exception, beyond all hope of staying even partially dry. Her clothes were plastered to her cold skin, and strands of dark hair that had escaped the confines of a braid now straggled, dripping, around her face.  
  
She was lost, and that was in itself a mixed blessing- if she had no idea of where she was headed, chances were, neither did her pursuers. She snuck a glance over her shoulder as she stumbled along. In the dark- and the rain- she could barely see the buildings she knew to be a few feet away from her, let alone anyone that might be following. Good. It meant that they couldn't see her, either.  
  
The girl stopped running. Her heart pounded, throbbing and echoing in her ears, until a sudden wave of dizziness sent her reeling into the rough mass of a brick wall. Her aching leg muscles finally gave out, and she folded into a shivering heap at the base of the wall, letting out a choked sob. Tears coursed down her dirt-streaked face, mingling with rain and blood. The latter ran in diluted red rivulets that laced across one bare forearm, the sleeve of her shoddy, second-hand shirt rolled up to the elbow in some sort of attempt to keep it from being stained. A long but shallow gouge ran unevenly along the outside of her right arm from wrist to elbow- a stupid mistake that only continued to hurt as rainwater pelted relentlessly at the broken skin, as if to spite her for her carelessness. Of course, it could always be worse- she could be dead. The thought did nothing to console her.  
  
A sudden scuffling noise sent her into a wide-eyed panic, instantly sobered out of any self-pity she might have been feeling. She flattened against the wall, eyes darting wildly in the dark as she searched in vain for the responsible party, until something skittered over her feet, muttering and growling to itself. A wet cat.  
  
The girl stood shakily, scrubbing at her eyes, unaware (or else uncaring) of the blood she smeared across her cheekbones and forehead in the process. She had to find somewhere to go, before someone did find her there, someone whose intentions were considerably worse than those of the stray cat. Locating the nearest street sign, she was only inches away from it before she could just barely make it out- Duane Street.  
  
Well, it seemed as likely a place as any to find somewhere to sleep, while a few hours still remained before dawn. She set off around the corner, squinting through the heavy sheets of rain, and it wasn't long before she spotted a fire escape tucked safely away beneath a slightly slanting roof. Whether it was made that way, or if it had merely sagged with age, was impossible to tell, but she quite honestly didn't care. Cautiously, she edged alongside the building until she was standing a foot away from the wrought-iron ladder that suspended from the platform. She eyed it, calculating the height of it, the distance, the slickness of stray raindrops- and then she leapt, catching hold of the bars, bearing most of her slight weight with her good left arm. Soundlessly, she eased herself up on the fire escape- and froze.  
  
Her own reflection stared back at her in alarm. She blinked dazedly at the distorted image. /First the cat, and now this?/ She asked herself. /I'm losin' my touch/. She leaned towards the windowpane, trying to get a better look inside.  
  
Through the glass, she caught a glimpse of a large yet modest room. Bunks, which made up almost all of the furniture as far as she could see, lined the walls, each one occupied by a sleeping tenant- boys, she guessed, judging by the unkempt appearance of the place. Abruptly, in a bunk too close to the window for the girl's comfort, one of them stirred in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath. She jumped. The boy rolled over, turning his back to her, and eased back into a peaceful sleep. Reminded of how tired she really was, the girl turned away and settled down for the remainder of the night.  
  
-=-=-  
  
Dawn came at long last to the Duane Street Lodging House, and with it, the early morning wake-up call. The old man who ran the establishment- Kloppman by name- made his usual morning rounds, badgering his lodgers one by one until they fell out of bed, bleary-eyed.  
  
Specs groaned and rolled over, pulling his thin blanket over his head in an unsuccessful attempt to shut out the noise. Almost as soon as he had, he heard a telltale muted thump as his bunkmate, nicknamed Dutchy, dropped to the floor barefooted.  
  
" 'Ey, Specs, guess what time it is?"  
  
"Time t' go back t' sleep?" Specs asked hopefully. He heard Dutchy laugh.  
  
"Now dat's where you'se wrong," came the bright response. Specs grumbled under his breath- how was it possible that his friend could be so wide- awake at this time of day? Reluctantly, he pulled the blanket back down, frowning at Dutchy's back as he ducked into the wash room. A moment later the newsie reappeared, towel in hand. Predictably, he was grinning at his bunkmate.  
  
"What're you so happy for?" Specs muttered, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. Dutchy's grin widened.  
  
"Why not? 'S a nice mornin'," he responded as he began vigorously toweling his blond hair dry. "Sun's shinin' again. Wit' any luck, dah headlines'll be good again t'day." His voice was only slightly muffled by the towel.  
  
"We kin only hope," Specs muttered, fumbling for his glasses as Dutchy walked over to the streaky-paned window to see how bad last night's storm had been.  
  
"Whoa, what've we got heah?" he said to nobody in particular, barely audible over the noise of the other newsboys as they got ready for work.  
  
Specs looked up. "What's dah mattah, Dutch?"  
  
"No, wait! Don't go!" Came the startled response. Dutchy fumbled with the latch on the window as if he hadn't even heard his friend's query.  
  
"Dutch?" Specs repeated. Dutchy, still ignoring him, threw open the window and clambered out onto the fire escape. "Dutchy!" Specs raised his voice, starting after him.  
  
"Hey, what's goin' on?" The voice belonged to their friend Skittery, who had walked over, still slipping his striped suspenders over the shoulders of his pink undershirt.  
  
"I dunno," Specs confessed. "He jist ran out dere, yellin' for someone- or somethin'- t' wait."  
  
"Huh." Skittery frowned, looking at the open window thoughtfully. Specs following, he approached it, and they both looked out to where Dutchy stood on the metal platform, gazing forlornly down at the street below.  
  
"There was someone out heah," he said by way of explanation. "A goil. An' she was a mess. She was jist sleepin' out here..."  
  
"Which way'd she go?" Skittery wanted to know.  
  
Dutchy glanced down again, before looking back at his friends. "Well... dat's dah strange part. She rushed down dat ladder like I was dah bulls or sometin', an' den she jist... she jist disappeahed!"  
  
Skittery looked to Specs, a hint of amusement written in the smirk that threatened to spread into an all-out smile, before he looked back to their friend. "Dutchy... why don't'cha come back inside? It's early, an' you was prob'ly jist seein' t'ings or somet'in'. Dose kinda t'ings happen, y'know."  
  
"Yeah," Specs went on, "We was up pretty late las' night, wit' dah pokah game'n all..."  
  
"No," Dutchy insisted firmly, "She was heah. I sweah!"  
  
"Whatevah yah say, Dutch," Specs shrugged, "Whatevah yah say..."  
  
Dutchy sighed wearily as he climbed back through the window.  
  
-=-=- 


	3. Two: For a Dreamer

-=-=- CHAPTER TWO: FOR A DREAMER -=-=-  
  
The girl cautiously opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the light. She yawned and stretched stiffly, easing the cramps out of taut muscles while she tried to remember how long it had been since the last time she'd had to sleep out on someone's fire escape. A year, maybe even two, she was sure. A small smile flickered across her face as she recalled the last sight she'd seen the previous night, and she started to get to her feet, turning around to see if the boys were still asleep.  
  
They weren't. If the noise coming from inside wasn't enough of an indication, the round-eyed stare of the blond guy standing there with his nose pressed to the windowpane sure as hell was. She gave a start, clutching for the rail as she scrambled for the ladder. He called out, his voice muffled from behind the glass, as he started to open the window. "No, wait!"  
  
Like hell I will! Skipping the last few rungs of the ladder, the girl dropped and hit the ground running, hurtling around the corner as fast as she could manage.  
  
-=-=-  
  
She ran until she was drunk with the euphoria of it- the dizzying exhaustion that slowly turned her legs to jelly, unaccustomed to the exercise after nearly six months of confinement. She drew long, labored breaths set the to rhythmic pulse of her own heartbeat ringing in her ears, concentrating on the counter rhythm her boots made as the thin-worn soles slapped the cobblestone. Her cheeks were warming, and she had just barely started to work up a sweat that helped to ward off the chill of the late October breeze. It was only a few blocks later until she finally allowed herself to duck into a cluttered alleyway, unable to go any farther. She sagged against the wall, almost instantly sick to her stomach, with a light- headed sensation that made her head spin. She squeezed her eyes shut, ragged gasps escaping her as she fought to catch her breath, clutching at the stitch in her side. A second wave of nausea swept over her so quickly and so unexpectedly that she was hardly ready for it, and a white-hot flash of pain seemed to sear the back of her eyelids with its brightness. Then it was dark, all dark, and with a sigh of resignation, she slid to the ground and blacked out.  
  
-=-=-  
  
When the girl was at last roused, she was dimly aware of a person standing over her- a someone whose booted toe prodded experimentally at her ribs. She made a small noise of protest, summoning up enough energy to roll onto her other side and draw her knees up tight against her chest, letting a matted mane of brown hair fall forward to entirely obscure her face.  
  
The prodding grew more persistent.  
  
She clenched her teeth, hoping that by some miracle her annoying tormentor would simply lose interest and wander off, leaving her alone with the headache that was already setting in. Of course, she never had such luck.  
  
"Whaddya want?" The girl nearly growled in her annoyance.  
  
"I was. I was jist wonderin' if, well. you was awake, an' well, since yah are." The tentative testimony was enough to tell her that the person was male- a young boy, judging by the childish high quality of his voice.  
  
"Can't'cha see dat I'se tryin' t' die in peace heah?"  
  
She certainly /felt/ like doing just that- and not for the first time in her life. In fact, it wasn't the first time she'd said as much, or at least something to its effect. Come to think of it, she'd been in another alley very much like this one, on the ground as she was now. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that she had somehow managed to revert back to that fateful morning over an entire year in the past.  
  
"In dat case, uh- when yah die, kin I have your t'ings?"  
  
That wasn't what was supposed to happen, her memory protested. The kid was supposed to call over another person, tell him what he had just heard.  
  
// "Funny," the newcomer would remark, "You don't look as though you're dying." His voice would be a light, amiable tenor, compelling enough to make her respond not half as crossly as she would intend to.  
  
"Well, I am. Go bother someone else," she would tell him, and he would laugh- a warm, genuine sound.  
  
"Not until I've had a good look at you." //  
  
"Hey. I as't you a question." The girl was torn out of her reverie as the boy's boot found leverage between her ribs and the dirty ground, rolling her flat onto her back. If she had been in any condition to do so, the girl would have sprung to her feet right then and there and popped the kid a good one that would've left his ears ringing. But she wasn't, so she just remained sprawled across the ground, motionless except to throw up a forearm to shield her eyes from the harsh midday sunlight that slanted into the alley.  
  
"Well? Kin I?" The boy persisted.  
  
She lowered her arm to fit him with what she hoped was a level look, assessing him through half-slitted eyes. He was scrawny, a poor excuse for a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy with stringy hair that might have been blond after a good bath. Blue eyes looked down inquiringly at her- eyes that spoke of exhaustion and defeat, of lost innocence. He was kind of pathetic looking, really, and she almost felt bad for him- almost. But she had seen so many just like him, and some even worse.  
  
"D'yah t'ink I'se got anyt'in' 'sides dah clothes on me back, kid?"  
  
"Well-" the boy reconsidered, shifting uncomfortably- almost guiltily. "No."  
  
"Den whaddya ask for?"  
  
"I- I dunno."  
  
The girl sighed. "Jist beat it, kid. I ain't got not'in' you'd want anyways, so yah shouldn't'a wasted your time. Go bother someone else, a'right?"  
  
He certainly wasted no time in leaving, and then she was alone again. alone with the recollection that, once it had been dredged up from the part of her memory she had hoped she'd forgotten, wouldn't leave her.  
  
// "Funny, you don't look as though you're dying."  
  
"Well, I am. Go bother someone else." His laugh, that rich mellow laugh.  
  
"Not until I've had a good look at you."  
  
She could sense him squatting down next to her, sense him drawing close as he reached out a cautious hand to gently push the hair away from her face. She recoiled sharply, scrambling backwards until she pressed against the brick of the wall.  
  
"That was right forward of you, sir!" She accused heatedly.  
  
"It was, wasn't it?" He mused thoughtfully. "Ah, well, for a dying person, you move quickly enough."  
  
She could see now that he seemed to be near her age, his hair a shade of honeyed wheat that was enviable by most girls she knew. His eyes, a startling shade of clear green, sparkled in merriment as he regarded her coolly, his mouth drawn up into a friendly smile.  
  
She blinked several times in rapid succession, but the boy neither disappeared nor magically sprouted feathery white wings as she somehow expected him to. To her embarrassment, her antics only seemed to further amuse him.  
  
"Here, let me help you up," he offered amiably. She stared at the proffered hand for a moment, until her disoriented mind registered what he was saying. Blushing, she reached up, the color deepening as his hand enveloped hers with a comfortably firm grip. As she was helped to her feet, a sudden surge of dizziness sent her stumbling back, whereupon his free hand found the small of her back, holding her steady.  
  
"Thank you," she murmured, abashed. "If- if I may," she heard herself asking, "Well. who are you?"  
  
He grinned wickedly, eyes sparkling even more brightly as he proceeded to execute a flourishing mock-bow. "The name's-" //  
  
"Extry, extry! Suspected moidurah at large!"  
  
And just as abruptly, the memory vanished, his face still so fresh in his mind, his laughter still ringing clear...  
  
The girl cursed bitterly. There would be nobody this time, no savior appearing around the next corner to give her a hand up. She hauled herself to her feet, increasingly aware of the pangs of hunger and dizzying exhaustion with each passing moment.  
  
"Foist t'ing's foist. Gotta get meself some dinnah," she told nobody in particular. And with that thought first and foremost in her mind, the girl stepped out of the alley and into the sea of tired faces of city-dwellers headed home after a long day.  
  
-=-=- 


	4. Three: Cut to the Chase

-=-=- CHAPTER THREE: CUT TO THE CHASE -=-=-  
  
Not long afterwards, she found herself eyeing up the establishment across the busy thoroughfare. Gold-gilt lettering named it "Tibby's Restaraunt," and it was just the place she was looking for. It seemed respectable enough to serve decent food, and, judging by the appearance of the customers that came through the door, she suspected it was reasonably priced as well. Cutting through the crowd, she made her way over to the green building, the string of bells affixed to the door jangling brightly as she stepped inside.  
  
She found, several minutes later, that her suspicions had proven correct. She had slipped into the corner booth to observe the patrons as they came and went, and had even treated herself to a cup of coffee while she waited for her meal. The caffeinated drink warmed her considerably, and she savored the almost forgotten taste of it as she sipped from the mug, holding it cupped in her palms so as to warm cold-stiffened fingers.  
  
Next mission, bed an' boahd. The thought had barely entered her mind when someone rapped hesitantly on the tabletop.  
  
" 'Scuse me, miss, but we was jist wond'rin' if maybe you could switch tables wid' us? We'se waitin' on a couple 'a frien's an' we ain't all gonna be able tah fit 'round a two-seatah table..."  
  
"Yeah, shoah, no problem." To indicate her sincerity, the girl turned to face the speaker as she stood, and fully intended to flash him a friendly smile before sliding out of the booth...  
  
... until she was staring face-to-face with the last person she wanted to see.  
  
-=-=-  
  
Specs blinked, letting his mind take in all that had just happened. All that he and Dutchy had wanted was the table- just the table, so that Bumlets and Pie Eater could join them for a quick supper. So, with as much politeness as the work-worn newsboy could muster, he rapped his knuckles on the larger table where a single person sat in the corner. It wasn't even as though he had asked her to flat-out leave- as far as he could see, there was nothing wrong with the table that he and Dutchy had been occupying up until that moment.  
  
But then the girl had frozen in her tracks- just froze, terror-filled eyes darting wildly like some cornered animal, and then the chipped mug slid out of her fingers, hitting the table with a clatter of dishes and silverware. He reared back just in time to dodge the spray of steaming coffee that splattered every which way, and at that moment the girl sprang into action. She dove, skittered under the table, and came up on the other side. The impact of their collision- rather, her shoulder thrown hard against his chest- sent him reeling back into Dutchy, and then she broke away, tearing out of the tiny restaurant as if he were the devil himself.  
  
And that wasn't even the strange part. Before he even knew what was going on, Specs was shoved roughly out of the way as Dutchy lunged forward, right at her heels, shouting, "It's her! I tol' yah, Specs!"  
  
And so, really, he had no other option but to follow.  
  
-=-=-  
  
Two-and-a-half blocks later, he was just beginning to think that maybe he'd made the wrong decision after all. The chase was a wild one- dodging carts, ducking between people, darting through trash-littered alleys- and still, it didn't slow its pace the slightest bit. Dutchy settled into a long-striding rhythm, his sights fixed ahead, while Specs toiled several paces behind, losing ground with each passing moment.  
  
The girl had a good lead on them, one that only lengthened as storefronts and tenements flashed by. She herself flickered in and out of sight like some sort of wavering apparition, picking her way through the crowded thoroughfare with an almost inhuman deftness- a creature of shadow and dusky twilight, a phantom of his own imagining, and nothing more. Of course, that idea was about as absurd as it was poetic- after all, in the short moment in which she'd stared them down in Tibby's, the real, human emotion caught in her wide, haunted eyes was nothing he himself could have ever dreamed up.  
  
At length, he drew even with Dutchy, straining to keep pace with his blond selling partner. "Dutch-" he rasped, panting raggedly, "C'mon... give it up... Ain't gonna catch 'er..."  
  
"No!" Dutchy shook his head resolutely, lengthening his strides- a feat which Specs had thought impossible until that moment.  
  
"Dutch-" He broke off sharply, the breath catching in his throat. He stumbled and lost pace, bent double in the middle of the street while a fit of coughing racked through him. When he could stand again- at least, enough to stagger out of the path of traffic- he wasn't surprised in the least to discover that both the girl and Dutchy were gone. With a resigned sigh, he trudged wearily towards the direction they had been running in.  
  
-=-=-  
  
If there was anything the girl hated more than being caught and cornered, she hadn't yet encountered it. There was no question about it: she was most definitely out of her element here, choosing unfamiliar streets at random as she sought to lose the boys who seemed so intent on catching her. As curious as she was concerning their motives, she really wasn't looking forward to any sort of back alleyway interrogation. Lowering her head, she pushed straining muscles to their final limit, ducking between a fruit vendor and his potential customer. She glanced around quickly, trying to choose a direction. But at this pace, there was no time to think, and barely enough time to react. She veered sharply off to the left into an appealing alleyway- and met solid wall closing in on three sides. She cursed bitterly, slamming the flat of her palm against the rough rust-red bricks, frustration blinding her from even the smarting pain she should have felt. She took half a second to collect herself, breathing hard, before turning just in time to find her one escape route suddenly filled with an explosion of noise and sound as the blond-haired boy skidded to a sharp halt in front of her.  
  
/Well/, she thought, putting on a brave face, /I guess I could see what he wants/.  
  
-=-=- 


End file.
